


Molly the Kelda

by Cutebutpsycho



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 16:46:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17046905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutebutpsycho/pseuds/Cutebutpsycho
Summary: Tumblr prompt from Anonymous: Sherlock/Molly, anywhere really, "I swear to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, do that again and I will cut you."





	Molly the Kelda

This was not a good day for Sherlock to come into the morgue haranguing her, Molly thought to herself. 

It had been one of those days where the stress had been stacking up and she was having a hard time controlling herself. First an article she had written was rejected, then two coworkers called in sick, three bodies were put on priority for autopsies, Toby had come down with a kidney infection and had to be rushed to the vet  and he showed up.

Not to mention, on stressful days like this she could feel the walls not  _crumbling_ , but becoming permeable, like plant cell walls being broken down under heat. 

So she wasn’t surprised when she saw the flickers of blue ducking in and out of the shadows, but it wasn’t a welcome sight.

And then Sherlock showed up. He was also in a mood and apparently decided to take it out on her.

“Molly, the entire situation is simple. I need access to the Eagleton corpse immediately. A murder case hinges on it.”

“And I said you have to wait,” she sighed, trying to control the headache that was blooming into an exquisite migraine. She could feel her control slipping,which meant something dangerous was going to happen soon. “I need you to come back later. I’m not well now.”

“Nonsense Molly – all you have to do is allow access to the body and I’ll be out of your hair immediately. It’ll be right as rain,” he was shifting from foot to foot and she could feel the waves of irritation wash over her like a hot humid day. The flickers of blue were beginning to coalesce in the shadows and become more solid.

 _Please, please, please_  she thought.  _I don’t want to have to explain this to him._

“Molly –” he whined.

“I swear, to the Flying Spaghetti Monster, do that again and I will cut you,” she snapped, hoping that he’d catch the clue and leave, giving her a moment of quiet to settle everything.

But Sherlock, the stupid git, didn’t.

“Flying Spaghetti Monster?” he asked, before focusing again. “Molly –” he whined.

It was like being in a tug of war when the opposition suddenly lets go of the rope. The force of the walls turning from solid to cheesecloth slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her. Waves of blue washed over her as cries of “DEATH TO THE SCUNNER!” echoed off the walls. The florescent lights flickered, then blackened.

Sherlock leaped back, letting out a roar of surprise as he found himself surrounded by small, angry looking blue men with flame red hair. They all were dressed in tartain and armed with scalpels pointed at his direction. One was apparently drinking embalming fluid and shooting daggers with his eyes. 

“Aye, Miss Molly,” the one armed with a scalpel and guzzling the embalming fluid looked back at her. “Is this big heap o’ jobbie’s botherin’ ye?”

Molly fell back into a chair and stared over at Sherlock, who for once, was speechless. At least the migraine had stopped.

“I suppose I have some explaining to do,” she said.


End file.
